


London Calling, or How Jared and Jensen Do London And Each Other

by Raina_at



Series: Hiatus [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen, Established Relationship - Sort Of, Fluff, M/M, Not much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raina_at/pseuds/Raina_at
Summary: Jensen and Jared do PR in London and resolve some issues inbetween. Sequel to Breaking Status Quo, and it'd be good to read that first.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Hiatus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612366
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	London Calling, or How Jared and Jensen Do London And Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a million years ago. Fair warning, it's pretty much all schmoopy, silly smut.

Jensen sets down his bags and lets himself drop down on the bed with a relieved sigh. He hates transatlantic flying with a vengeance, even when it's the comfortable first-class variety. No matter how much space they give you, it's never quite enough to get comfortable, and there's a serious kink in Jensen's neck from sleeping on the plane. 

At least the hotel is really nice. Jared was right; it's much better than the places they usually stay at when they're travelling. The room’s a comfortable size even for Jared, the bed's also soft and comfortable, and the view is fantastic. The Thames glitters in the morning sun just outside the window, and Jensen smiles. He loves London. 

He'd love it even more, if he weren’t jetlagged as hell. His watch says 10 am, but his body says ‘1 am, sleepy time'. 

Theoretically he's got time for a nap. Theoretically he's got time for solid six hours of sleep, but he knows that, if he sleeps now, he won't be able to sleep tonight, and he needs to get into normal sleep patterns right away, or he'll be jetlagged for days. Besides, he's got better things to do with his time. After all why should he stay in this Jared-less bed, when somewhere in this hotel there's one with Jared attached? 

He takes out his cell and dials Jared's, which goes straight to voicemail for the millionth time. Jensen hangs up without leaving a message and dials their PR assistant Alice's number. ”Hi Alice, it's Jensen. Just wanted to let you know I've arrived at the hotel in one piece." 

”Glad to hear it, honey," Alice Californias into the phone, and Jensen can almost see her multitasking with her laptop, and her calendar and a headset plugged into the phone. 

"Can you give me Jared's room number?" he asks, trying not to sound overeager, like he hasn't been itching for this moment for _days_. 

There's a short pause, then Alice says, "Would love to, hon, but he hasn't arrived yet. His plane got delayed in LA, and then again in New York. He's probably still somewhere over the Atlantic right now." 

Shit. Just perfect. „You have any idea when he'll arrive?" 

"Before the dinner tonight, I hope," Alice answers, and Jensen can tell that she's already mentally dismissed the conversation. 

”You hope?" Jesus! 

”Don't panic. I'll call you when he arrives. Meet you at six in the lobby. Need any help picking out an outfit?" There's a slight leer under the amusement in Alice's voice, and Jensen feels himself getting irritable. 

”No, thanks, I think I can manage to dress myself. See you at six." He hangs up, before he snaps at Alice, who really, in the grand scheme of things, can't be held responsible for the Universe's screwing with Jensen. 

Great. Just perfect. Eight hours until dinner with a whole roomful of slimy showbiz managers, not to mention about a zillion reporters, and Jensen's jetlagged, nervous, and his giant walking confusion of a co-star isn't even in the country yet. Which admittedly wouldn't be as much of a problem, if said co-star hadn't been elusive as hell since practically the moment he took his hands of Jensen's dick back in San Antonio five days ago, the bastard! He all but screwed Jensen's brains out then just drove him to the airport, put him on a plane to Los Angeles and has been Mr. Mysterious ever since, except for a pretty freaked-sounding voicemail that said, ”Hey Jensen, listen, I gotta get back to San Antone for a bit of family drama, nothing serious, just parents having a freak-out. Perfect timing as usual. I guess I won't be back before London. Call me. This is Jared, by the way, just in case you were wondering." 

Jensen had tried to call Jared back, but Jared hadn't picked up. Jensen had left a few messages - _Ten_ , he reminds himself, _You left the guy ten messages, you pathetic freak_ \- and Jared still hasn't called him back. 

Thing is, Jensen's not proud of it, but he's beginning to freak out a bit. He's nervous as hell about what will happen when he sees Jared again, and perversely, the only thing he can think about is getting his hands on Jared's skin while at the same time freaking out that having finally had the guts to act on his pretty pathetic crush on Jared, now that Jared's had plenty of time to think about actions and consequences, he'll find that Jensen's not quite worth rearranging his entire life for. There's no going back, though. Jensen's put his heart on the line. His heart, his job, and one of the best friendships he's ever had, actually. And he knows that if he can stare down his own insecurities, what he'll get as reward will be totally worth it. 

He just hopes that Jared agrees. 

-*-* 

Big Ben tolls eleven thirty in the morning, and the London feeling finally settles into Jensen's guts. The city's changed since he was last here. Tighter security, less openness, and still, there's something about London that's unique in the entire world. It's a cosmopolitan village, it's the center of the Earth, ancient, and complicated and beautiful. Like every big European city, London seems to be locked in a struggle of the modern versus the historic, but, unlike Paris, where the ugly new millennium has mostly been banned to the suburbs, London has seemed to find an unstable balance between Regency brick, Victorian splendour and 20th century glass. 

Starbuck's has arrived in Europe full force, something for which Jensen is as secretly grateful as he is outwardly disgusted. The cup in his hand has just cooled to drinking temperature, and he's the first to admit that anti-corporate ethics don't stand much chance against jetlag. 

He'd planned on doing this with Jared. Showing him around Jensen's favourite places in the city, having Jared show him his. Doing the stupid touristy stuff together, before the serious PR work starts tonight, really earning their "I'm American, please speak slowly" t-shirts. He just knows that Jared would've come up with something dorky to do, like going to Madame Tussaud's and goofing around with famous wax figures, or taking a ride on the big-ass Ferris wheel they've put up in the middle of the city. Jensen's actually considered doing that on his own, but he knows he'd hate it by himself, for the sole reason that it'd be so much more fun with Jared. 

How dare the bastard be this much fun to hang out with, anyway? If he weren’t, no way Jensen would've ever fallen this hard for him, hotness or not. But Jared's everything Jensen finds irresistible; he's intelligent, goofy, warm, open, and about as real as possible for somebody in their business. And then there are the dimples. And his smile. And his tall lankiness and broad shoulders and firm, biteable ass. 

_God,_ Jensen thinks, _I'm in so much trouble._

He'd hoped they'd have at least the basics – such as, will there be any more sex, - figured out before coming here. Actually, if he's entirely honest, he'd kind of hoped they'd have it figured out so far that the five days they have to spend here would turn into a punch-drunk shagfest, but life never turns out the way Jensen plans it. And thank God for that, mostly, because he sure as hell didn't plan on sex with Jared when he went down to San Antonio. 

But the way things are now, they'll go into a very stressful work situation with a can of worms open between them. And it's not even certain that Jared will arrive in time for the dinner-cum-fall-schedule-PR-event ITV is hosting tonight, and where they're guests of honor of sorts. A room full of TV executives and reporters. Jensen's _favourite_ people. Whatever's going on between them personally, professionally Jensen needs Jared there with him, needs his charming, bulky, entirely professional presence. They're a team; they're in this together all the way. Jared knows what questions to take from Jensen, and Jensen knows when to jump in. Jensen trusts, no, knows, that whatever's going on between them personally, Jared will always have his back professionally. 

And just like that, Jensen feels himself calm down. There's actually not much to worry about here. Because the thing is, Jensen trusts Jared. 

Meanwhile, the Thames is the appropriate city-river greenish-grey, and the Houses of Parliament look like one big-assed, glorious, much-needed distraction from Jensen's soap-opera-esque personal dilemma. Tune in tomorrow and see whether Jensen will get to third base again with his exceptionally hot co-star. Smiling at himself, Jensen takes an unashamedly touristy picture of the view of Big Ben from Westminster Bridge and walks over to the House of Parliament. 

*-* 

The car will pick them up at 6 pm exactly, and Jensen steps out of his room, ready for combat at 5.55 pm. Walking to the elevator, he feels a bit like a boxer gearing up for a fight, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He knows he looks good in his 'oh, I just threw this on in a second but still look spectacular' outfit - which of course it took him hours to pick out - and even though his stomach is doing cartwheels, none of his nerves or uneasiness shows on his face. He’s pressing the call button for the elevator, when a door closes in the corridor behind him. 

"Jensen!" 

Jared's voice is like an electric shock travelling from the tips of his hair down to his toes, and he turns around, smiling almost in spite of himself. Jared's dressed sharply, and god he looks good, even though Jensen can see exhaustion in every movement he makes. 

"Hey," Jared says, softly, his smile is warm and does some pretty fucked-up things to Jensen's breathing. 

"Hey," Jensen answers, stupidly. Seeing Jared again ties Jensen's tongue and makes his hands twitch. Jared steps next to him to wait for the elevator, and all Jensen can think about is reaching out and burying his hands in Jared's shirt, pulling him close and just smelling him, because Jensen is sure Jared smells just fantastic, sweat and cologne. But before he can think of so much as a single thing to say to Jared, the elevator arrives with a 'ding', and they have to get in. 

There's somebody with them in the elevator, and the silence that falls is just a bit awkward. Jared's fidgety, and Jensen's nervous, and Jensen can't look at Jared for any length of time, because of all the things his mind automatically jumps to, like the way Jared's neck tastes, or the way Jared gasps when Jensen bites his stomach muscles. 

The elevator stops, and the woman who was riding with them gets out. The door closes, and before he can so much as make a sound, Jensen finds himself pressed against the side of the elevator, effectively sandwiched between the wooden panel and 6'5'' of Jared, who smells just about as amazing as Jensen thought he would. 

Jared smiles. "Hi." 

Jensen swallows. "Hi yourself," he murmurs, and the last syllable is just indistinguishable sound meshed against Jared's lips. 

God he tastes good, is pretty much all Jensen's brain is reduced to, the rest of him is focused on kissing Jared back, stroking his tongue into Jared's mouth as far as it will go, sneaking his hands under Jared's jacket to get to skin. 

The lift slows, then stops, and they break apart hastily, straightening their clothes. Jensen's aware that he's grinning idiotically, and that the people getting into the lift are giving them strange looks, but he doesn't care. He feels light, fluttery, and all his nerves are gone. 

He glances over at Jared who's grinning at him like the Cheshire cat. "So how was your flight?" he asks, trying for casual but aware that he's sounding pretty giddy. 

Jared huffs a laugh. "Pretty much horrible, with a side of uncomfortable. But at least we had a three-hour delay in New York, so I was really exhausted to heighten my appreciation of the discomfort." 

Jensen laughs, and Jared smiles at him, and Jensen's heart goes 'ding,' opening wide pretty much in synch with the lift doors revealing Alice waiting for them in the lobby. 

*-* 

Dinner's pretty much a disaster. Jared orders a double espresso the moment they've sat down and greeted the people sitting at their table, three PR people from BBC, ITV and Sky, four journalists and a Warner Europe rep. The Warner rep talks about the show and European distribution schedules, and Jensen watches Jared drink his body weight in caffeinated beverages, while they chew through a thoroughly mediocre dinner of steak and potatoes. Jensen and Jared are seated opposite each other, with two reporters each at both sides. As soon as the rep stops talking, the reporters draw them into small-talk, most of which Jensen knows will find its way to print one day or another. There's the occasional diversion into one-on-one conversation, but mostly the four reporters all listen when either Jensen or Jared talk, and Jensen can easily see that by halfway through the evening, Jared's pretty much ready to drop dead from exhaustion. 

Jensen himself has trouble paying attention to anything that's not Jared's lips, his hands, or the way he looks at Jensen, all intense and 'If we were alone, you wouldn't be wearing any clothes'. 

After dessert, the ITV head of programming gets up to present their fall schedule, and Jensen groans as Jared orders his third Red Bull, winking at Jensen while murmuring something about stamina to one of the reporters. 

Jensen goes to the bathroom in the middle of the presentation and Jared follows, pressing Jensen against cool tiles. "I missed you," he whispers. 

"It's only been five days, you freak," Jensen murmurs, hiding his smile against Jared's neck. 

"Says the man who left ten messages on my voicemail," Jared shoots back, sounding amused, nosing along the hem of Jensen's t-shirt. 

Jensen's glad that Jared can't see him blush. "Well, why didn't you call me back?" 

"Because I forgot my cell in LA and only got it back yesterday. Why didn't you call my landline in San Antonio?" The eye-roll is audible in Jared's voice, and Jensen realizes he's wasted the last five days angsting about pretty much nothing. 

Jared draws back and smiles at him. "You're a moron, Jensen." He leans in and brushes his lips against Jensen's, and Jensen's just moving in for some serious necking, when the door opens, and the two of them move apart more quickly than Jensen thought possible. Jared gives Jensen a look and mouths 'Later', and Jensen spends ten minutes trying to get his heartbeat to slow down. 

This is going to be a long night. 

*-*

The thing Jensen's noticed about hotels, especially hotels in the British Islands, is they all smell the same, no matter what class or price range. There is a lightly dusty carpet-smell of rooms that don't get aired enough because of air conditioning. He's noticed, too, that almost all hotel carpets in the entire world feel the same against his naked feet. Scratchy and rough, not unlike the sensation of unshaved skin scraping against him. It's not an entirely unpleasant feeling, even if Jensen's learned from experience that carpet burn should never be underestimated. 

Even though his room smells uniquely of hotel, his bed doesn't, and neither does the bathroom. Thank God there's a huge-ass shower, and Jensen steps under it with a palpable sense of relief. The day's over, Jensen's deposited Jared, who fell asleep on Jensen in the cab back to the hotel and was almost comatose when Jensen saw him last, in his room. Jared's probably asleep by now, thereby removing temptation, and Jensen can sink into the divinely soft pillows of his huge bed and get the good nights' sleep he really, desperately needs. Even though he has to argue his body out of the idea that it's 2 pm in the afternoon, and therefore the perfect time for the post-noon activity rush, he's pretty sure that once he hits the sheets, it'll only take one or two nice, long, leisurely wanks to put him to sleep. 

Of course pretty much all of that is shot to shit, when he comes out of the bathroom and finds Jared on his bed. His feet are on the floor, legs dangling from the edge of the bed as if he sat there first, then couldn't resist lying back, just for a moment. He's sound asleep, breathing deep and regular. His head is turned to the side, and his hair is falling into his face. One arm rests over his stomach, the other one is flung loosely across the bed. He’s changed out of his slacks and dress shirt into comfortable-looking jeans and a worn t-shirt. Sleep has blurred all his edges, and he looks incredibly young and vulnerable, the way he's sprawled there on Jensen's bed. It's almost embarrassing, but Jensen feels himself get aroused at the same time as he's feeling almost violently, possessively protective. He's aware of his own near nakedness and exchanges the towel he's wearing around his waist for boxers and a t-shirt, before he steps closer to the bed. 

Jared doesn't stir, his breathing doesn't change. He looks dead to the world, entirely relaxed, and Jensen wants nothing more than to touch him, muss up his hair even more, put his hand on Jared's stomach just to feel him breathe. _You could break my heart without even trying,_ Jensen thinks, looking down at Jared's sleep-slack, innocently blank - beautiful - features. 

As if Jared felt Jensen's thoughts, he stirs lightly in his sleep, murmuring something indistinct. A small frown line appears between his eyes, and Jensen holds his breath for a moment, afraid that Jared will wake up. He doesn't, his breathing remains deep and regular, and Jensen lets out the breath he's been holding, relieved. He doesn't want to give up this moment, not yet, he's enjoying watching Jared this vulnerable, this intimate, this trusting. 

The small frown line between Jared's brows hasn't smoothed with sleep, on the contrary it seems to be deeper, and Jensen wants nothing more than to smooth it away with his fingers, but touching Jared, especially now, seems almost presumptuous, the right of the lover he's not sure he is. But his hand moves instinctively, involuntarily, body memory of more intimate touches, of greater rights granted overriding common sense, and his fingers smooth over that frown line, gently, softly, brushing over Jared's warm, soft skin, smoothing the line away. 

The very moment Jensen's fingertips brush Jared's forehead, Jared's eyes open; a sleep-soft, unfocused gaze settles on Jensen. He feels his hand seized, and, before he can so much as utter a sound, Jared pulls him down to the bed, rolls them so Jensen's on his back, and Jared's on his side. Jared smiles, and Jensen can't move, can't speak, pinned to the bed effectively by the warm, soft expression in Jared's eyes, by the hand so casually on his hip. 

"Hey," Jared whispers, then leans down and kisses Jensen, slowly, deeply, and Jensen feels like melting into the mattress. Jared tastes clean and like nothing so much as himself, he smells like hotel soap and airplane, and Jensen never, ever wants to go without kissing him, without touching him ever again. He decides right then and there that whatever he has to give up to keep this, whatever risks he has to take and whatever difficulties arise, whatever he has to do to get Jared and keep him, he'll do it, and it'll be worth it. 

Jensen's hands find their way automatically into Jared's hair, stroking, holding on. "Never cut your hair," he murmurs against Jared's mouth, and feels the breath of Jared's laugh on his kiss-tingling lips, before Jared moves in again and shuts Jensen up efficiently by stroking his tongue into Jensen's mouth. 

They kiss until Jensen's stupid, boneless, breathless, aroused in a quiet, all-the-time-in-the-world way, Jared's hands stroking down his sides, his back, holding on to his hip, every touch taking away some of Jensen's insecurities, making it clear that he's not alone in this, that Jared's right there with him, wanting. 

They break apart, and Jared smiles at Jensen stupidly, saliva glistening on his lips. "I've been wanting to do that all night." 

Jensen just nods. There aren't any words left in his mind, any point he wanted to make has been lost against Jared's lips, or said with his hands fisting in Jared's hair or his shirt. 

Still smiling, Jared lets himself fall onto his back and stretches hugely, long limbs sprawled over Jensen's bed. "I thought I'd just get some things out of the way," he says, then yawns. "I don't want you to angst your pretty little head off, after all." 

"Ah, fuck you, Jared," Jensen says, automatically, then laughs when Jared raises an eyebrow suggestively. "Don't flatter yourself, Padalecki. You're not that good of a lay." 

Jared looks at him, a slow grin spreading over his face. "I'm gonna make you eat those words, Jensen. I hope you're aware of that." The effects of his speech are somewhat marred by the huge yawn directly following. 

Jensen laughs, relaxed and easy. "Promises, promises. You couldn't even make a three-year-old eat desert right now. You've got to sleep, man, you look terrible." 

"Always the charmer," Jared murmurs, then rolls to his side, into Jensen, head landing on Jensen's shoulder, an arm around Jensen's waist, a huge hand on Jensen's hipbone right over the edge of his boxers. "Can I stay?" 

Jensen's breath hitches, and his heart starts thumping erratically. "Yeah," he says, surprising himself with how low and rough his voice sounds. "Stay," he whispers, fingers threading through Jared's hair. 

Jared murmurs something unintelligible into the side of Jensen's neck, already halfway on his way to sleep. Jensen settles down as best he can next to the giant taking up most of his bed and surprisingly has little trouble falling asleep. 

*-* 

Jensen wakes up feeling like he's being slowly roasted over an open fire. The sun's shining into the full expanse of the windows he appreciated yesterday evening for the view but could now curse into the next century. There's an arm around his waist, and a face pressed to his shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks over at Jared, who's all but plastered to Jensen's side and firmly asleep and giving off enough heat to make Jensen think he's in a Saharan sauna. 

A glance at the bedside alarm clock tells him it's 6.30 am. His alarm is set to seven. There's a very attractive man in his bed, one Jensen has been dying to fuck for longer than he can think about. Sleep vs. waking Jared up with a nice, early-morning blowjob isn't a competition at all. 

He gets up and goes to the bathroom to piss and drink a glass of water. When he comes back to the bed, Jared's lying on his stomach, sprawled all over the bed, snoring deeply. Jensen crawls back to bed, straddling Jared, hovering over his body. He kisses Jared's ear, then bites softly at the crook of his neck where his T-shirt's pulled down. Jared stirs briefly, but doesn't wake up, his face still buried in the pillows. 

Jensen goes to phase 2. "Jared?" he whispers into his ear. "Wake up." 

Jared doesn't give any indication that he’s heard Jensen. 

Blowing out an exasperated sigh, Jensen gets up. Perfect. Life drops the hottest man in the known universe into Jensen's bed after almost a year of pining, and said hot man is so exhausted that Jensen can't even wake him up for a blowjob. He looks up. _You can stop laughing at me any time now,_ he directs at the cosmos at large. 

Jensen steps into the shower with morning wood appropriate to his aborted plans. But not now doesn't mean not ever, and Jensen's pretty sure that Jared is up for a lot of dirty things that are on Jensen's mind. Not that he has a list or anything. All right, who is he trying to kid, he's got a list about as long as England, and a healthy fantasy repertoire to last them for easily the rest of the year. 

Looking down at his morning erection, Jensen figures he'd better take care of that, if he wants to survive a day packed with interviews. It's fucking annoying that they need to spend the entire day working, when Jensen really doesn't want to leave his room, or his bed, except for very short bathroom breaks, until he's touched and tasted and fucked Jared in every way he can imagine. And he can imagine lots of ways. 

Unfortunately they're fucking professionals, and besides, he'd better get used to sitting next to Jared for an entire day without being able to touch him, because that's going to be pretty much standard for the next ten months, once they're back in Vancouver. Because as far as Jensen is concerned, the fewer people know what they're doing, the easier their relationship will be, at least for now. There will of course be people who'll have to know, but - Jensen realizes abruptly that he has his hand on his dick, but his thoughts have wandered down an avenue entirely unrelated to his bodily needs, and also, he's getting way ahead of himself. Last night pretty much laid to rest the question of whether Jared wants to keep on fucking, but anything else is still unclear. There's a lot of shades of grey between friends with benefits and a relationship, and Jensen doesn't exactly know into which shade of grey they'll fit. And there's also Sandy. 

_Great_ , Jensen thinks. Perfect. I'm standing in the shower with my dick in my hand, and I'm thinking of my maybe-boyfriend's maybe-ex. 

Jensen closes his eyes and purposely shoves all thoughts of if and when, of futures and emotions and all the stuff that life is made of aside. This is not for now. Leaning against the cool tiled wall of the shower cubicle, Jensen tightens his fist around his dick and starts stroking, lets arousal wash over him in waves. He thinks of Jared, Jared's hands on his dick in San Antonio, Jared's cock in his mouth, Jared moaning like a fucking porn star when Jensen sucked him off, then he crosses over into fantasy and imagines Jared's mouth around his cock, Jared's ass, Jared under him, arching up to meet him, Jared whispering his name as Jensen's cock slides into him. 

He imagines Jared fucking him, Jared sinking into him, Jared holding onto him, scratching, bruising, Jared saying things he'd never say, saying, "Fuck me," and meaning I love you. 

Jensen comes all over his hand, biting his lips, feeling shaky and raw all over, like he's ripped open something better left untouched. 

*-*

"We're gonna be late. Dude, next time I'll use ice buckets to wake you up, I swear to God," Jensen says, checking his watch for the millionth time. 

"Five minutes won't make Alice kill us," Jared replies and pulls Jensen towards the elevator as soon as Jensen's properly locked his door. 

A thought suddenly occurs to him. "How did you get into my room last night?" 

"I took a burglary night course in Vancouver to help me get into character when Sam picks locks on the show," Jared answers, in his best 'Jared Padalecki, International Man of Mystery' voice, which really translates to Jensen to 'Jared Padalecki, International King of Dorkdom'. 

"So I didn't shut the door properly?" 

Jared laughs and nods. "You know me too well." 

Grinning, Jensen ruffles through his hair. "Fear not, your secrets are safe with me." 

Jared smiles back, genuine, serious. "I know." 

*-*

“Thank God," Jensen groans as the door of the hotel room in which they've spent the whole morning closes behind them. ”Six interviews before lunch is just fucking inhuman." 

Jared nods absently, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We should complain to - to whoever’ll listen." 

Jensen smirks. “Given that we're rich and famous and have one of the world's most coveted jobs, I don't see anyone going Norma Rae for us." 

Leaning against the wall, Jared gestures for Jensen to push the elevator button. “Dude, I'm so hungry. I want the world's most gigantic burger and about a million fries now, and a huge-ass milkshake-“ 

He doesn't get any further because Jensen - having checked that nobody's watching, thank you very much - just pulls Jared down and stops his babbling by kissing the breath from his mouth. 

He buries his fingers in Jared's hair and moves his hips so he’s practically standing between Jared’s thighs. It takes Jared no time at all to respond, then one of his huge paws lands smack centre on Jensen's ass and squeezes, and no, Jensen didn't just whimper embarrassingly into Jared's mouth, and no, Jensen didn't just get hard in .2 seconds flat. Only he totally did. 

Jared pulls back, eyes dazed. “Room service. Definitely.” One of his hands lingers over Jensen’s cheekbone, tracing its smooth lines to Jensen’s ear. 

It takes more control than Jensen would admit not to rub his face into the touch like a freaking kitten, and goddamnit, he’s stepping hard on the urge to purr. He needs to get Jared somewhere and get laid, ASAP. Thank God they’ve done this particular round of interviews in a small conference room in their own hotel only five floors away from Jensen's room and Jensen's bed. 

The elevator arrives, and Jensen hooks his fingers into Jared’s belt loops, pulling him along into the elevator. Fortunately, they’re alone in the cabin, and Jensen presses the button for their floor, then tests whether Jared still makes this needy, growly sound when Jensen bites his neck. 

Jensen feels strangely like a teenager again, stopping every two seconds to make out, on the short way from the lift to Jensen’s room. Jared’s hand rests somewhere near Jensen’s hip while Jensen opens the door, and as soon as they’re inside, Jared flops down onto the couch and reaches for the room service menu. “What do you want?” 

Grinning, Jensen plucks the menu from Jared’s hands. “What I want isn’t on there,” he leers and all but climbs Jared, straddling him and kissing him, deeply, slowly, deliberately, hands already on Jared's shirt buttons. 

Jared gasps, and Jensen can feel him getting hard. A dizzying rush of nerves floods Jensen. _This is real,_ he thinks. _This is actually happening._

He draws back and looks at Jared, flushed and mussed and so fucking gorgeous, pupils dilated with desire, and all Jensen’s to plunder, and it feels incredible, amazing and utterly surreal that they’re here like this together now. 

“You have no idea how long I've wanted this.” Jensen has trouble recognizing his own voice, raw and low. 

The glittering edge of desire in Jared’s eyes softens to something Jensen shies away from naming. Jared opens his mouth, as if to say something, but he only takes a small, embarrassed breath, and Jensen leans in to kiss him, because hell if he knows what to say now. 

Jared pulls back and puts a hand on Jensen's chest, when Jensen tries to move after him, not at all convinced that the kissing should stop. 

“I broke up with Sandy.” 

It’s sudden and unexpected, and kills the mood as effectively as a bucket of cold water over the head. Jensen has no idea what to say to that. ‘Thank God!’ may not be entirely what Jared wants to hear, and, ‘I’m sorry,’ is such a lie that Jensen’s pretty sure he’d combust, before it’d ever clear his lips. He finally settles for a fishing, terribly eloquent, “Um…” 

Jared’s lips twitch with amusement. “What a very astute observation, Jensen. You're really the height of eloquence and erudition.”

“Oh, shut up.” It’s more a reflex than anything else, because Jensen’s higher cognitive functions are really kind of busy with the ramifications of what Jared just said. He moves off Jared’s thighs and sits next to him on the couch. “Okay, can’t talk with your crotch this near to my ass,” he adds. “That's better.” He turns to face Jared. “So-“

Jared’s smiling openly now, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Yeah?” 

Jensen realizes that right now he makes Dean look like Dr. Fucking Phil for all that he knows how to have this conversation. “How did she take it?” he asks, realizing how totally lame he sounds. 

Jared shrugs, looking down at his hands lying in his lap. “Not too well. She threw me out on my ass, actually.” 

Taking hold of Jared’s jaw, Jensen turns his head and makes Jared look at him. “And how’re you taking it?” he asks, wondering whether he’s setting himself up to get his heart broken right here and now. 

Jared’s small huff of laughter is all air and no humor. He shrugs again, looking at Jensen with a soft, serious expression. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think I should be melancholy, but the truth is, I hardly saw Sandy at all this last year or so, so it’s not like I’m missing much. I guess that’ll come sometime, though. Right now though,” he adds, and Jensen can see the smile that’s never far away spread over Jared’s face, “I’m kind of busy.” 

Jensen feels the warm relief of Jared’s smile down to his toes, feels his breath catch, and his body tingle in anticipation, when Jared leans in until his mouth is mere inches from Jensen’s. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, turning deeper, gently, firmly, until Jensen’s entire body tingles with it, and he feels like Jared’s reaching down right for his guts and squeezing, tightly. 

When they break apart, Jared’s smiling, and Jensen’s not sure he remembers his own name.   
“Thanks for being so honest,” Jensen murmurs against Jared’s lips. 

Jared shrugs. “I should’ve told you sooner, should’ve called you from San Antone, but I had to wrap my head around all this.” 

Jensen smiles. “And did you manage to?” 

Jared pulls Jensen close, tangling their legs together on the couch, full-body contact that gives Jensen ideas they don’t have time to pursue now. “Consider me wrapped,” Jared answers, kissing Jensen deeply, the taste of his words sinking into Jensen’s bones. 

Jared pulls away about twenty years too soon and picks up the menu. “So. We've got about twenty minutes to our next interview. Room service?”

Jensen nods, slowly, glad that Jared’s turning away to place their order, so he doesn’t see Jensen biting his lips to regain some semblance of control over the urge to fuck Jared through the couch right here and now, because really, they’re booked solid with interviews until nine at least, and Jensen knows that in about two hours, he’d regret not having eaten now. Of course he’ll regret not getting rid of the arousal itching under his skin as well, but there’s always tonight. He only hopes they’ll make it until tonight, before Jensen tackles Jared in public. 

*-* 

“19 drinks?” Jared asks, biting Jensen’s neck. “You just so totally lied to Israeli TV, dude.” 

Jensen gasps. “Who gives a shit,” he murmurs, shoving his thigh between Jared’s legs, hands already under Jared’s t-shirt. 

“I bet I can make the Texas in you come out all by my lonesome,” Jared drawls into Jensen’s ear, and Jensen doesn’t know what’s hotter, being crowded against the door of his hotel room with Jared plastered to him practically head to toe, or Jared’s breath in his ear, or Jared’s drop-dead-sexy growling drawl, all possessive and cocky. 

Instead of answering – because really, who’d be stupid enough to take that bet? – Jensen pulls on Jared’s shirt, trying to get him even closer even though they’re already pretty much welded together. Jared takes the hint and starts kissing Jensen with enough force to make him feel it down to his toes. Apparently, and Jensen really didn’t see that coming at all, the more he has of Jared, the more he wants. He’s had all afternoon and evening to work himself into a pretty desperate state of, ‘got to have you now now now’ and judging from the way Jared kisses him, as if he wants to crawl inside Jensen, he’s similarly affected. 

Jensen grabs Jared by the hips and starts steering him towards the bed, careful not to trip over anything, because Jared’s mouth is on his neck, and Jared’s hands are _all over_ him, undressing him, keeping him close to Jared’s body as they stumble backwards to the bed. Jared’s mouth seeks his for hasty, breathless kisses, and Jensen grins. God he loves the rush of beginning, when every touch is exciting, every kiss is world-shattering, every moment not touching is a supreme waste of time, every moment during sex is heightened and exhilarating, like being on drugs. 

There’s a noise that’s not Jared’s breathing in his ear, and for a moment Jensen has trouble placing it, then he realizes that it’s his fucking cell phone. 

“Leave it,” Jared whispers, hands fisting in Jensen’s shirt to pull him close when Jensen tries to move. 

Jensen sighs. “Can’t,” he murmurs against Jared’s lips between kisses, “could be important.” 

He grabs the phone out of his pocket and hopes his voice doesn’t sound all husky and sex-hungry. “Hello?” So far, so good. 

“You fucking bastard. You _fucking_ bastard! I knew you wanted him, I knew it from the start. I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Ackles, I swear to God, if you ever come near me again, or anything that’s mine!” The voice is slightly slurred and clearly female. 

Jensen frowns. “Sandy? Is that you?” he asks, dimly aware that Jared’s stopped kissing his neck and isn’t touching Jensen anymore. 

“Damn right it’s me! What, figured I’d let you get away with _stealing my boyfriend_ , you bastard?!” 

Jensen doesn’t get a chance to respond, because Jared firmly takes the phone out of his hands and presses it to his ear. “Are you insane?” he asks, stepping away from Jensen. “Leave Jensen alone!” 

_This is not happening,_ Jensen thinks, aware that if it happened to anyone else, he’d find it hilariously funny. As it is, though, he’s aroused to the point of dizziness, and he’s contemplating just collapsing into hysteric giggles, because it’s clear that a) Sandy’s roaring drunk and b) very upset, and c) Jared’s too nice a guy to just get her off the phone and go back to driving Jensen crazy, and the entire situation is just this side of completely bizarre. 

“Calm down, please,” Jared’s saying in the background, sitting down on the couch. “I get that you’re upset, but you know it’s not Jensen’s fault.” He shoots Jensen an apologetic look and mouths ‘Sorry’. 

Jensen shrugs. His own damned fault. He should’ve let the damned phone ring its ass off. 

Jared’s expression turns pained. “Oh, fuck, please don’t start cryin’ on me,” he says, and there’s something in Jared’s voice that makes Jensen want to reach through the phone and strangle Sandy, even though she’s clearly the wounded party here. Just, nobody has the right to make Jared sound this… defeated. “You weren’t any happier with me than I was with you,” he says softly, and suddenly Jensen feels like an intruder. He knows what’s going on here isn’t any of his business, and it’d be better for all concerned, if he just absented himself from the conversation. 

He gestures to Jared that he’s gonna go down to the lobby to get a drink, pushing Jared firmly back to the couch when he wants to get up and hold Jensen back. “You figure this out,” Jensen whispers, “I’ll be downstairs.” 

Jared gives Jensen a tight, grateful smile. Jensen just nods, then heads out. He really needs a drink now. Or, you know, twenty. 

*-* 

There’s a part of Jensen, granted most of the time it’s a really, really small part, that wishes he’d never given up smoking, because if ever a situation called for a cigarette, this one does. 

But there’s beer, and there’s wonderfully smoky whisky, and there’s rugby on TV down in the bar. Sports, booze and a bartender who knows to shut the hell up just can’t be overrated when sulking in a bar. And Jensen would really like to be able to say that he isn’t, in fact, sulking, but there’s nobody around to kid, and his reflection in the mirror behind the bar shows too much of a, ‘life sucks,’ pout to even try and reason away. 

Fuck it, he thinks. He has ample reason to sulk after all. Months of unresolved sexual tension that could almost finally be resolved, and the universe insists on screwing with him. Jetlag, Jared’s ex and about a million and one interviews, and Jensen wishes he could just grab Jared and shoot both of them to the moon for some alone time. 

On the other hand, he’d better get used to having almost no time alone with Jared, to being with him constantly but not being able to touch him or shove him against the wall and fuck him stupid whenever he wants, because that’s pretty much what their life is going to be like. He figures being reputed as super-close buddies will make getting away with public displays of affection easier, but it’s not like their fans don’t already think they’re fucking each others’ brains out. If only. 

Sighing, Jensen turns his attention to the TV and the closely contested game going on. He doesn’t know who’s playing, but it’s violent and distracting, and that’s just perfect. 

Jensen’s on his second beer and third whisky, and frankly getting somewhat pissed off - seriously, how long can it take to tell your ex to take a walk - when a huge, warm, oh so comfortable hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades, and Jared sits down next to him. 

Jensen doesn’t turn at first, keeps his eyes on the game, quietly cursing Jared for touching him, cursing the fact that it feels amazing. 

“Who’s playing?” Jared asks, and the exhaustion in his voice makes Jensen look away from the game and at Jared, who’s gazing at Jensen’s whisky glass with barely veiled desire. 

There are times to hold a grudge and times to let it the fuck go, and Jensen prides himself in knowing which is which. He’s not by any stretch of the imagination a patient man, but Jared’s wearing the expression he reserves for especially tortured Sam scenes, or the very few times when he’s just had enough of everything. So Jensen slides over his whisky glass and shrugs. “I think one of the teams is New Zealand.” 

Jared takes a swallow of the whisky, and Jensen can almost feel him relax. “Thank you,” he says softly, and Jensen knows that Jared doesn’t mean for the whisky. There’s a small smile playing around Jared’s lips, and he gestures for two more of what Jensen’s having to the bartender. “You’re something else, Jensen. You know that?” 

God, that tone of his voice. How can anyone be mad at him or stay mad at him, when he uses this soft, slow, warm tone, when he lingers over Jensen’s name like this, like a caress he can almost feel physically? It’s always been there, Jensen realizes that now, it’s always been right there in the way Jared says his name, or touches him, or looks at him, or gifts him with his time, his company. It’s not something that started last week, when Jared touched him for the first time with intent, but this… attraction, this feeling goes back to when they first met, their first read-through, the first time Jensen felt the spark between them, the sizzling of chemistry you can’t fake or buy or create. It’s something that’s way older than the sexual part, and something that will outlast this heady, spinning, drugged-up desire all but pounding against Jensen’s body. 

It’s… comfort. Safety. It’s what they give each other that nobody else can. It’s, he realizes that now, exactly the reason they are where they are today. 

Jensen nods over to the leather couches standing against the walls of the bar. “Want to watch the game?” 

Jared smiles at him, grateful, fond, and they move over, carrying their beers. They sit and make themselves comfortable, then Jared picks up his beer and clinks it against Jensen’s. “That’s not how I imagined this evening would go.” 

Jensen smirks. “Yeah, well, that’s life.” 

Jared mirrors Jensen’s smirk. “Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes.” He turns the gaze towards the TV. “So who’s winning?” 

*-* 

Jensen’s drunk. Okay, understatement. Jensen’s plastered. But then again, so is Jared. 

_Hey, bed,_ Jensen thinks, trying not to fall facedown onto the soft mattress, because that’d be bad. Why, he can’t figure out, but Jared’s holding him up, and there must be a reason for that. 

“If y’could try t’stand still, I might’ve an easier time getting your clothes off,” Jared murmurs into his ear, all Texas drawl. 

Jensen leans into him, snuggles into the warmth of Jared’s arms around him, Jared’s torso pressed up against him. “’s nice,” he murmurs. There’s something else he’s been meaning to do. What was it again? 

Jared turns him around to undo his pants. 

“Oh, right,” Jensen murmurs and pulls Jared down for a sloppy, drunken, beer and whisky flavoured kiss. 

“Alice’s gonna have our asses tomorrow,” Jared murmurs and frees Jensen of his pants. 

Jensen makes a noise that’s supposed to express the depths of his not caring, but pretty much the moment Jared’s hands are away from his body, he lets himself fall onto the bed. 

Jared doesn’t seem too steady on his feet when he tucks Jensen in, so Jensen does the one thing that seems logical, he pulls Jared down to sit on the bed. “Stay,” he murmurs, patting the bed beside him. “’s a big bed.” 

Jared’s smile is soft and blurry, and Jensen blinks a few times to clear his vision, but his eyes have trouble staying open. 

He feels more than sees Jared crawl into bed with him, and turns blindly to Jared’s warmth, burrowing in with a contented sound he’ll deny to his deathbed later on. 

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is Jared murmuring, “Nineteen drinks, my ass.” 

*-* 

There's a persistent thump reverberating through Jensen's skull, too irregular to be an echoing heartbeat. A short staccato, then silence. Then again.

Slowly, the sound penetrates through Jensen's consciousness, pulling him out of the depths of sleep. 

At first he thinks the pounding comes from inside his head. But then a voice joins it. “Jensen!” 

Jensen opens his eyes and immediately regrets it. Warm, bright summer sunlight filters through the curtains and drives daggers into his skull. 

“Jensen?”

Closing his eyes again, Jensen takes stock. Pounding headache, check. Parching, Sahara-reminiscent thirst, check. Huge, warm Jared-sized paws resting on his belly and hip, check. Huge, warm Jared-sized body pressed to his side, check. Conclusion: Jensen's vastly hungover, and the world is a miraculous place. 

“Jensen, open the fucking door!” 

Jensen sits up in bed as the full weight of the situation hits him. That's Alice shouting at him from the other side of the door. They’ve overslept by - as a check of the alarm clock reveals - a solid hour and a half and were supposed to meet Alice at breakfast half an hour ago. And Jared's in Jensen's bed, comfortably asleep and mostly naked. 

“Jared, wake up,” Jensen whispers, shaking Jared's shoulder. Jared stirs, but doesn't wake. 

“Just when I need you to be your annoying perky self in the morning, you turn into Jared the Sloth,” Jensen murmurs and gets out of bed. He pulls on a robe and a contrite expression and opens the door. Just a crack. 

“Morning,” he says, trying to go for an ‘I'm sorry, I'm a moron, and also, I'm so very pretty' look. 

Alice rolls her eyes. “You and Jared got drunk last night.” 

It's not a question, so Jensen doesn't answer. He just shrugs. 

Alice sighs. “Get dressed, I'll go wake Jared. You've got about half an hour before your first interview.” 

Jensen watches with rising dread as Alice goes to knock on Jared's door. Shit. He pulls his robe more tightly around himself and looks over at his bed, where Jared lies innocently asleep, looking about fifteen years old. “Jared,” he stage-whispers, and finally, finally, Jared seems to hear. He stirs and reaches for Jensen's half of the bed, then lifts his head when he finds it empty. 

“Jensen?” 

“Shhhh. Stay where you are,” Jensen says to him, then opens the door to watch Alice. 

She's pounding on Jared's door. “Jared, if you don't open up, I'll call hotel security.” 

“Goddamnit,” Jensen curses under his breath. He steps outside and joins Alice at Jared's door, not unamused by the fact that, though this is Jared's room, he has yet to spend more than ten minutes in there. 

Alice gives Jensen an exasperated look. “Jared's picked the perfect time to turn into a diva.” 

Jensen lays a calming hand on her arm. “Relax, I'll get him out.” He knocks on the door. “Jared, come on, open up. We don't care whether you've got a girl in there.” 

Raising an eyebrow at Jensen, Alice smirks. “Come on, Jared, no need to be ashamed.”

That moment, Jared sticks his head out of Jensen's open door behind Alice's turned back, mouthing ‘What the hell?’ to Jensen. 

Jensen motions for Jared to fuck the hell off, and Jared shakes his tousled head in confusion, but does as Jensen says, and Jensen spares a moment to note that Jared looks just about good enough to eat up all sleep-tousled. 

He turns to Alice. “Look, why don't you go get us some muffins and take-away coffee or something. I'll take care of Jared. I'll have him awake and downstairs in half an hour, I promise.” 

Her suspicious glare doesn't stand a chance against the full force of the Ackles charm, and once again Jensen watches an intelligent, beautiful woman melt under the force of his smile as Alice nods. Score, Jensen thinks. He might not have dimples, but God knows he's got other weapons. 

Jensen watches Alice go with a certain sense of accomplishment, then waves for Jared to come out of his room. In any other situation, it'd be funny to watch Jared dash across the corridor clad only in boxers, carrying his clothes, hectically fidgeting with his room key, but right now it only turns Jensen on, another sign of how desperately he needs to get laid. 

They get Jared into his room and make a big show of him opening the door when Alice turns at the elevator. They both wave at her, both giving her identical, ‘nothing going on here, thanks a lot, salt of the earth straight boys having some innocent friends fun,’ smiles. She scowls at them and points at her watch, then disappears into the elevator. 

Jensen heaves a relieved sigh. “Dude, crap time to stop being a morning person,” he says to Jared, hitting him over the head. His own head hurts, he's crabby, and he needs about two pints of water for starters, but he forgets pretty much all of that, plus most of anything else he's ever known, when Jared grabs him, pulls him into the room and kisses him good morning. 

When they break apart Jensen's breathless and tingling all over. “I hate you," he whispers against Jared's lips, trying not to grin like an idiot. 

Jared smiles. “You know, I think you really, really don't," he whispers back and kisses Jensen again. 

*-* 

Jensen’s trying really hard not to fall on his ass laughing, but it’s proving difficult due to Jared’s evil grin. “Tom Cruise? Dude, you’ve got the worst taste ever.” 

Jared bursts out laughing, and it’s enough to set Jensen off again. “And you’re the worst criminal ever. Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re not supposed to admit you stole something?” 

Jensen shrugs, still grinning. “It’s all your fault. You threw me with the gay jokes and the making out. By the way, if this is your method of keeping us in the closet, please warn me next time.” 

“Where’d be the fun in that?” Jared asks, slinging an arm around Jensen’s shoulder as they walk through the lobby. 

Caught up in Jared’s playful mood, wondering dimly whether it’s giddiness from the hangover medicine, or horniness that makes him feel this light-headed, Jensen shoves Jared away, ducking under his arm, when Jared tries to grab him. “Dude, we’re in public,” he murmurs. His cheeks hurt from smiling. 

Jared points at the elevator. “Not for long anymore.” 

Jensen grins and starts walking faster. 

“Where do you two think you’re going?” Alice’s voice is cool and entirely unamused. 

Jared and Jensen turn around, both putting on their best ‘contrite boys’ looks, and Jensen has to stop himself from giggling. Maybe he’s still drunk. Or maybe unresolved sexual tension is driving him slowly insane. He knows for sure that Jared’s talk about making out and masturbation all but shorted out his brain cells in that interview they just gave. He surely hopes nobody in the US ever sees that piece in print. 

“You’ve got three TV interviews in the next hour. The car picks you up in ten minutes, you’ll eat lunch in the studio,” Alice pede-expositions for them as she walks to the exit. “Next time, gentlemen, if you want a lunch break, be punctual in the morning.” 

Jensen looks at Jared, his amusement evaporated. “Perfect,” he murmurs, while Alice is on the phone ordering their car, “at this rate, when we finally get around to having sex, we’ll be too old to enjoy it.” 

*-* 

“You know, I thought summers in Britain were all cold and rainy,” Jared muses, pointing at a clear summer-blue sky from which the sun is shining with a force appropriate to a June afternoon. “I was promised rain, mist, fog, you know, the whole London deal. I want my bad British weather. Remind me to lodge a complaint with the British Tourist Board.” 

Jensen doesn’t bother to move from where he’s sprawled over the back of one of the huge lions on Trafalgar Square. He looks at Jared and smiles. Even he looks small next to the Nelson monument. “You may be the first tourist in history complaining about nice weather.” 

Jensen himself doesn’t mind the admittedly unusual summer heat. He enjoys it even. It’s not oppressive the way it is in Texas. It’s pleasant. Mind-numbing, sinking his body into a comfortable state of warmth. The lion’s just this side of too hot against his back, and the sun’s shining on his face. “Ten months in Vancouver haven’t made you sick of rain?” 

Jared shrugs. He looks awfully comfortable sitting between the paws of the lion next to Jensen’s, long legs dangling make him look very young. And very fuckable. “I’m sweating my ass off, man. Guided tour, my ass. We’ve both been here before. Don’t they know that?” 

“Smile,” comes the sunny, very British voice of their tour guide/photographer Emma. Apparently, she was told by Alice to take a lot of pictures of the two of them with famous London monuments. So far they’ve done the Horse Guards, Piccadilly Circus and Big Ben, and now they’re doing the obligatory Trafalgar Square lions. They both turn to her and smile, trying to look as awake as possible. A fight Jensen at least is losing. 

“Come on, boys, we’ve got a lot of fun things to see,” Emma chirps at them. 

Jared jumps down from his lion’s pedestal and strolls over to Jensen, who can’t bring himself to move. He leans down. “You think if I kill her it’ll be bad publicity?” 

Jensen laughs and lets Jared help him down from the lion. “I guess it’s worth a try.” 

*-* 

The wind over Jensen’s skin feels delicious, as does the shade of the tree he’s leaning his back against. Emma’s left them to get some flowers for them to be photographed with at Kensington Palace in remembrance of Princess Diana. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” he murmurs, quietly, keeping his eyes closed, his fingers tangled in Jared’s hair. 

“Nope,” Jared answers just as quietly, shifting his head ever so slightly in Jensen’s lap. “You?” 

“Nah.” Though he could, Jensen figures. It’s so tempting. The tree’s pretty comfortable, and Jared’s even breathing is very soothing. “Still complaining about summer?” 

“I guess it’s ok.” Jensen can hear the smile in Jared’s voice. 

Jensen smiles, and for a few moments, they’re both silent, enjoying the quiet summer afternoon away from the city noise. It’s one of the things Jensen finds amazing about London, the way you can step into a park and have peace, if only for a moment. 

“Jensen?” Jared’s voice is hushed, as if he doesn’t want to disturb tranquillity. 

“Yeah?” Jensen opens his eyes to look at Jared smiling up at him. 

“Nothin’. Just…” Jared looks away from Jensen, down at his feet. “This is nice.” 

Jensen can feel his heartbeat speed up a tiny bit, warmth spreading through his body that has nothing to  
do with the sun. “Yeah,” he answers, his voice quiet and rough and not entirely steady. Jared looks up at him, and arousal shivers through Jensen’s body, not urgent, but all the stronger for its quiet determination. 

Jared licks his lips as if he knows exactly what Jensen’s thinking. “Tonight.” It’s not a question. 

Jensen nods, unable to look away from the promise, the heat in Jared’s eyes. “Tonight,” he echoes. Suddenly he’s nervous. 

*-* 

_Definitely reaching new lows here, buddy,_ Jensen says silently to his reflection as he checks himself out in the mirror for the fourth time. He looks fine. All right, if he’s honest with himself, he looks good. Great, even. The tie brings out his eyes and the grey suit is just elegant enough without making him look too gay. Somehow, though, he feels more like crawling out of his skin than he has in a long time. He feels like he’s going to be judged tonight, like what he wears actually _matters_ one bit . He feels, in short, like he’s trying not to be self-conscious about the fact that he’s wearing his best boxer shorts underneath his Armani suit, and he’s trying to tell himself that he’s not trying to impress Jared, who’s seen him in anything from ugly baggy shorts to mud-caked jeans with more holes than fabric and stupid-looking fake blood all over his chest. 

There's a knock on the door. Jensen smirks at himself in the mirror. Must be his date.

He opens and almost chokes on his carefully prepared wisecrack. Jared's leaning on the doorframe, smart black suit jacket open, the first three buttons of his light blue shirt undone, one end sticking out of his pants, a tie in each hand, smirking at Jensen in a sexy, cocky way that makes Jensen want to wipe that look off his face, preferably replacing it with something more like, 'please fuck me now'.

Jared holds up the two ties. "Which one's better for my eyes, you think?" he asks, in a slow, sexy, insinuating voice that scrapes all over Jensen.

Sighing, trying desperately to hide how much this outfit does for Jared's long-limbed graceful body, how much the way his pants stretch over his ass does for Jensen, he pulls Jared into the room and manhandles him in front of the mirror. He picks up both ties and holds them to Jared's chest, eyeing the effect critically as he stands before him, then in the mirror behind him. "This one," he says, throwing the one he hasn't picked on his bed.

Jared tries to take the tie from Jensen, but Jensen ropes it around Jared's neck himself, pulling Jared down with it.

"Kinky," Jared murmurs against Jensen's lips, then backs him up against the mirror, hands sliding beneath Jensen's jacket the same moment his tongue finds its way into Jensen's mouth.

The kiss is long, languorous, slow, stealing Jensen's breath, his composure, promising things Jared's hands are insinuating by sliding under his jacket.

He pulls back. "You're wrinkling my clothes." His voice sounds far less steady than he wants it to.

Jared laughs and lets go of Jensen, straightening Jensen's clothes as he draws back. "So, you think I'd be a good James Bond?" he asks, pointing at his outfit.

Jensen snorts. "Not unless James Bond morphs into a dorky Texan." Admittedly, though, Jared looks the part tonight, more fuckable than any other James Bond in history, not that Jensen would admit that.

There's too much of Jared too close right now, and Jensen needs to find something to do with his hands other than ripping Jared's clothes from his body with them, so he reaches for Jared's tie and starts knotting it. "Hold still," he murmurs, when Jared starts to fidget.   
  
"Dude, I can dress myself," Jared answers, but there's something like amused affection in his voice, and he doesn't do anything to stop Jensen.   
  
"All evidence to the contrary." Jensen tries not to feel how warm Jared's body is under his hands, how wide his chest is, how good he smells. He tries to ignore the way his hands aren't quite steady on Jared's tie as he knots the silk to what he knows is a perfect effect.   
  
"There." Jensen pulls the tie in place, centres it and straightens Jared's shirt collar. "Perfect," he says quietly, eyes still on the tie.   
  
"Yeah." Jared's voice sounds amused, but when Jensen looks up into his eyes, all he sees is heat. Once again, Jensen wonders how exactly Jared's doing it, how he's affecting Jensen this strongly, but Jensen's heartbeat is speeding up, and he has trouble breathing steadily, and Jared isn't touching him, not even the tiniest bit. Jared's leaning in, close to Jensen, pressing him up against the mirror.   
  
"You're so fucking sexy. Swear to God, Jensen, if we didn't have to go to this stupid thing, I'd have you out of that suit, before you could even so much as blink," Jared whispers into Jensen's ear, warm breath ghosting over the side of Jensen's face.   
  
"No fair," Jensen whispers, almost whimpers, needing every ounce of self-control not to tackle Jared where he stands. "I hate you."   
  
"Yeah, right." Jensen can hear the smirk in Jared's voice. "Consider yourself warned. As soon as we can leave, I'm gonna tackle you to that bed and not let you up for air, even if the fucking Apocalypse hits. So if you want to run, do it now."   
  
Jensen doesn't think he has the words to tell Jared that the warning comes about six months too late, that Jensen's into this so deeply that, even if he wanted to run, his feet are already cemented to the sidewalk. He merely holds Jared's eyes and smiles in what he hopes is a cocky, confident way. "The only way you're gonna tackle me to that bed is, if I don't get you pinned to the wall first."   
  
Grinning, Jared moves back, giving Jensen room to get himself under control. It's somewhat gratifying to see the flush in his cheeks, to hear the slight unevenness of his breathing. "I'm gonna make you my personal stylist," Jared says, checking his tie in the mirror.   
  
"You definitely need one," Jensen answers, smiling at Jared's shirt still hanging out of his pants. "Dress yourself, Jimmy Bond, we need to get going." He moves away from Jared as he speaks, then sits down on the bed to put on his shoes, trying to regain some semblance of composure.   
  
Jared checks himself out in the mirror, then stuffs his shirt into his pants with a sigh that sounds of pure frustration. "Where're we going again?"   
  
Jensen shrugs and reaches for his dress shoes. "Some ITV charity gala thing. I didn't listen too closely when Alice told us what it is." He groans as he puts on his shoes. "Let's just get in, make the rounds and get out as soon as humanly possible."   
  
"Good plan." Jared turns around. "So, am I presentable, Fashion Master Yoda?"   
  
Leaning back on his elbows, Jensen musters Jared, sweeping gaze travelling over every inch of his tall, well-muscled frame. "You'll do," he says, smiling fondly.   
  
Jared rolls his eyes. "Stop with the flattery, or I'll think you only want me for my body," he teases, then pats his pockets in a typical Jared gesture, checking whether he's forgotten anything. "Ready?"   
  
Jensen sighs and gets off the bed. "I guess. Let's go, then."   
  
Throwing an arm around Jensen's shoulder, Jared all but drags him to the door. "Look at it this way, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave."   
  
"If my shoes don't kill me first, "Jensen answers, wincing. He's forgotten how much he hates his dress shoes. "God, I sound like a chick, complaining about my clothes and shoes."   
  
Snickering, Jared watches as Jensen locks the door. "Actually, you sound... how should I put this delicately? Kinda gay."   
  
Jensen shoots Jared a dirty look and punches him in the shoulder. "Dude, say that again and there won't be any sex tonight."   
  
Amused, Jared glances down at Jensen's obviously still not entirely faded erection with pointed silence.   
  
Jensen rolls his eyes but can't hide his smile. He can foresee that, from now on, having the last word in an argument with Jared may be a bit of a challenge.   
  
*-*

"Longest night ever," Jared whispers against Jensen's ear, warm breath leaving goosebumps all over Jensen. Jared's hands rest on Jensen's hipbones, huge and sure as if they belong there - which of course they do - and Jensen resists the urge to just lean back into Jared's warmth, instead he fumbles with the keycard to his room. He blames it entirely on Jared's hands palming his waist that it takes him three tries to get the door open.

But then there's a click and the door swings inwards, and Jared's pushing Jensen inside, not stopping until Jensen's nose hits the wall. Jared bites his neck and Jensen gasps. He can feel Jared's erection digging into his lower back, and fuck if that's not turning him on like crazy.

He turns, Jared's hands sliding from his hipbones to the top of his ass, and takes hold of Jared's tie, pulling him in. "Got you," he murmurs.

"Yeah, you do," Jared whispers against Jensen's lips, and Jensen's heart goes thump-thump-kawoom, leaving Jensen feeling so mushy he'd be embarrassed if he had the brainspace.

He kisses Jared, hoping to God that Jared doesn't taste how many sweet nothings lie on the tip of his tongue.

Jared smiles against Jensen's lips. "I swear to God, if the phone rings, if there's a knock on the door, if the devil himself knocks on the fucking window, if you even think of answering, I'll make sure you never walk again," he murmurs, gripping Jensen's ass in a most promising fashion.

"Promises, promises," Jensen answers, amazing himself for sounding this cocky when really he feels tense enough to be used as a bungee cord.

Jared doesn't respond, he just presses Jensen against the wall and starts unbuttoning his shirt, biting at Jensen's lips. Jensen pushes at Jared's jacket until it's off, not letting go of Jared's tie, which is still wrapped around his hand. He'll need every handhold he can get.

*-*

Jensen's dizzy and hot all over, every drop of sweat against his skin heightening his awareness of Jared's hands sliding over his chest. His shirt is somewhere on the floor, and Jared's busily working on Jensen's fly. Jensen presses his naked torso closer to Jared, feeling the buttons of Jared's half-open shirt dig into his skin. If there's something hotter than half-naked Jared in a dress shirt, Jensen has yet to find it.

All right, scratch that, he thinks twenty seconds later when Jared sinks to his knees, breathing hot air against Jensen's stomach. Jensen can't help it, he laughs, and Jared looks up, smiling, then bites Jensen's belly right under his navel. Jensen's laugh turns into a barely stifled moan, and Jared looks like a man who struck gold. He bites again, and Jensen can feel himself quiver. Slowly, excruciatingly, Jared drags his nose down Jensen's belly, down to his open fly. "Wearing your good boxers, I'm flattered," Jared murmurs, his mouth pressed against Jensen's skin right above the waistline of his boxers.

"Ngh," is all Jensen can muster as response, a frustrated half-groan that makes Jared laugh, but seems to get Jensen's point across, because Jared pulls Jensen's boxers down and, oh dear God, licks over the head of Jensen's waiting - eager - erection. Jensen's head hits the wall with an audible and painful thump, but Jensen doesn't feel any pain, no, sir, far from it, forgets what the word's even supposed to mean - along with most of his other vocabulary other than, 'Jared,' and, 'more,' and, 'fuck' - when Jared wraps his mouth around Jensen's dick.

Jesus. Jensen thought he was prepared for this, he really did. He’s fantasized about it, how Jared will be hesitant, and gentle and uncertain, because it’s the first time he’s done this. Well, he was wrong, because Jared obliterates Jensen's every last braincell in about two seconds, no hesitation and nothing. All Jensen can do is push a hand into Jared's hair and pray that he doesn't dissolve into begging. "I thought..." he gasps, "I was your first guy."

Jared looks up through sinful long lashes, flushed, hair mussed, his lips wrapped around Jensen's dick. His look says 'oh, please' and 'shut up'! Even more efficient is the tongue curling around the head of Jensen's cock, and the heated pleasure flashing through Jensen's body leaves no room for either shame or restraint.

He pulls Jared to his feet and grabs him by his belt loops, grinding against him full-length. "Fuck me," he whispers, raw and needy and knowing it, but who cares. This is Jared, and Jensen wants everything of him.

*-*

Breath is a luxury Jensen isn't sure he'll ever get back. His clothes are gone, Jared's hands are all over him, Jared's skin a feast for his eyes, his hands, his tongue, and he takes advantage, licking, kissing, touching, tasting his fill for - God - the first time, and there's just so _much_ of Jared all over Jensen, it's like a never-ending discovery. Jared likes rough palming of his ass and gentle fingernails over his back, likes bites to the stomach and licks to his ear, a catalogue forming in Jensen's mind of sounds, noises, quivers, words spilling from Jared's lips, gasps and moans and Jensen's name in a needy, throaty voice that Jensen thinks could get him off without any touching whatsoever.

"Fuck, Jensen," Jared whispers, and the look in his eyes as Jensen hesitates above him is pure, unabashed awe.

"Yeah," Jensen answers. "Yeah."  
  
*-*

If skin was glass, if muscles were fragile, Jensen's sure he'd break now, he's trembling so hard all over. Jared's so gentle, so considerate, so careful, stretching Jensen with so much tenderness, stroking his belly, his thighs, his sides, his voice murmuring soothing, meaningless nothings, driving Jensen insane, out of his skin. He wants, he needs, now, it's too much, he needs more. He needs Jared, all over him, not these fleeting touches, he needs skin and heat, he needs to let go, he needs to come.

"Fuck me," he whispers, and Jared moans, his eyes meeting Jensen's, almost black with lust. Jensen grabs Jared's fingers, wraps them around Jared's own dick. "Do it."

Jared braces himself over Jensen, and Jensen can see that he, too, is trembling. Jensen reaches for Jared, tugs him down, frames Jared's face with his hands. "I got you." It's supposed to be reassuring, but it comes out possessive, growling, and Jensen can feel Jared shiver against him.

"Shut up," Jared answers, but he's smiling, and he slaps Jensen's thighs, lifting them, and _God, finally_ , brushes his cock against Jensen's ass.

Intense. So very intense. Jared's eyes on him, focused heat of a laser blast. Stretching, burning, but good, real, a feeling that travels through Jensen all the way up his spine. Slow and thick as molasses, the pleasure follows, travels over Jensen's entire body, unstoppable as a Texas heatwave, all-consuming and electric. Coherence dissolves into fragmented sensations as Jared's hips slam into him, as Jensen's body takes over on autopilot, moving with Jared, sticky-heated skin rubbing against Jared's, hips moving to meet Jared's thrusts. Strong hands grab at Jensen's skin, hold on to him. Jared's skin is so soft, hot, damp from sweat under Jensen's fingers slip-sliding over Jared's back, his hips, his ass. Jesus, he feels good. Feels amazing, all over, every stroke of Jared's cock, every slam of their bodies, takes Jensen higher, closer to the precipice, and he knows the drop will be exhilarating.  
  
"Fuck," Jensen curses through bitten lips, and Jared does just that, fucks him, grabs him, takes him, gives himself over to Jensen. Jensen can't get enough of him, wide open and oh so fucking beautiful above Jensen, sweat-gleaming, cow-licked, dorktastic sexgod that he is. This is it, Jensen thinks. Never forget this. It doesn't get any better than this. Fast, hard, finally, dirty, sloppy, perfect.

Jared's huge made-for-porno-videos hand wraps around Jensen's cock, strokes in time with his thrusts, and orgasm hits Jensen like a freight train, hard and unexpected, shivering through his entire body and wringing pleasure out of him. He struggles to keep his eyes open, he needs to watch Jared when he comes, needs to _see_ it and feel it, and then it happens, and Jensen sucks it all in, soaks it up, how Jared looks, how he sounds, how he feels shaking apart inside Jensen. It hits Jensen like a sledgehammer, and suddenly he feels like he hasn't come at all, like, hello, recovery time, what's that, let's do this again.

Jared grins at him with what Jensen can only term a well-fucked expression, and Jensen pushes him off and to his back. They're not finished. Not by a long shot.

*-*

The light has a cool, steely feel to it that tells Jensen it's either very late or very, very early. He must've fallen asleep for a moment, because the bed next to him is empty. Sitting up, Jensen groans. He feels thoroughly fucked, and right now it's both the best feeling in the world and not entirely pleasant.

"Go back to sleep," he hears Jared's voice, low, quiet, from the window.

Jensen turns his head to look at him. He looks cold, distant, in the cool light of pre-dawn. "Come back to bed," Jensen answers, just as quietly, and he can hear that his voice is pretty much shot to shit. Alice will have his ass tomorrow morning.

Jared doesn't move. "In a minute."

Sighing, Jensen slips out of bed, wrapping a sheet around himself. It's stupid, but suddenly he feels too naked. He pads over to where Jared's sitting and follows his gaze outside, towards the city lights. St. Paul's glows in the distance, beautiful, pristine, like a snow cone. For a moment, he doesn't know what to say, how to act, doesn't understand. Then Jared slips an arm around his waist and pulls Jensen in so that Jensen's standing in front of Jared, back pressed to Jared's torso. Skin on skin. Jensen's suddenly very warm.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jared's voice is so soft Jensen can hardly hear him.

"What?" Typical of Jared to want to talk now, at oh-fuck-thirty in the morning with an early call. "About what?"

"This," Jared says, tightening his arms around Jensen. "That you... you know, wanted this."

Oh. "Because I didn't think you wanted..." _me_. "This." If Jensen's voice isn't quite as steady as he'd like it to be, he blames it on the fact that he moaned his throat out half the night.

He can hear Jared's smile, feel it against the back of his skull. "Well, you know what they say about assuming," Jared murmurs into Jensen's hair.

A smile tugs at Jensen's lips. "No, what's that?"

Jared turns him around, looks at him. "Something about you being an ass."

Jensen laughs, a surprising knee-jerk belly laugh, one of those only Jared is usually able to produce with such ease. He pulls Jared back to bed. "I never thought I'd say this, but you think too much."

Jared follows easily, crawls into bed behind Jensen, pushes Jensen until his head's lying on Jensen's stomach, like a cat, Jensen thinks, way too fondly amused.

"Seriously, though," Jared says, continuing the conversation with Jensen's bellybutton. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Jensen sighs, pushing his hands into Jared's hair, already a habit. "Because..." Because he was scared that Jared wouldn't like him anymore. Because even now he has trouble admitting, even to himself, that he's... that he might very well be in love with Jared. "Because I didn't think you wanted me, and it would've made a difference. Even if you'd been nice about it, it would've changed things between us. It would've made things... complicated."

Jared leans his chin on Jensen's stomach and looks up at Jensen, sleepy eyes half-hidden by his bangs. Jensen pushes his hair out of the way so he can see his eyes. "Hate to break it to you, Jensen, but this, here," he gestures between them with his free hand, "this has changed everything between us. And let's face it, this is gonna be complicated as hell."

"I know," Jensen answers. "But now I get sex."

Jared's laugh huffs against Jensen's stomach. "As long as you've got your priorities straight."

Jensen smiles, but inwardly, he's reeling. Jared's right, of course. Everything's changed. And complicated won't even begin to describe what they've got. Whatever that is. Which reminds him of something he's been meaning to say for a while. "Hey, Jared?" Jensen looks intently at his stomach, a few centimetres from where Jared's chin is resting.

"Yeah?" Jared asks, all soft vowels.

"I don't..." Oh, come on, it's not that difficult to say. "I... I don't do casual fucking very well. Just so you know."

"Me neither." Jared's voice is rough and soft, and, when Jensen looks up, he sees a whole lot of things in Jared's eyes that aren't even remotely casual. He smiles, softly. "Good thing we're not doing that, then, right?"

Jensen closes his eyes and tries desperately to keep the relief from his face. "Yeah."

Jared crawls up and hooks his leg around Jensen's, drawing him close. "Incidentally, you think there's a chance I could crash at your place when we get back to LA?"

Shaking his head, Jensen tugs the sheets from under his body and drapes them over the two of them. "Since when do you ask? You just show up and hog my couch."

"Well, I wasn't exactly planning on sleeping on the couch this time. I mean, I could, if you want me to..." Jared answers, obviously fighting a smile.

"You're a moron," Jensen murmurs against Jared's shoulder. "Now shut your big-ass mouth, I need my beauty sleep."

"Oh stop it, you mushy romancer, I'm about ready to swoon."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Moron."

"Idiot."

There's an instant, a fraction of a second, where Jensen _feels_ himself fall in love with Jared, hopelessly, all over again. But sleep beckons temptingly, and Jared's already even breathing is soothing him to drowsiness.

_I'll think about it tomorrow,_ he tells himself. He'll probably find this feeling waiting for him in the morning. He'll probably have a sleep-deprivation headache to go with it.

All things considered, that's a really, really small price to pay.


End file.
